


Are You Really Listening

by helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: First Time, Frottage, M/M, Romance, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles did promise not to read Erik's mind, but it's awfully hard when Erik's thinking so many very loud, lewd thoughts at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are You Really Listening

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a fake postcard I ran across:
> 
>  
> 
> [Text: I'm going to pretend I'm listening to you when I'm actually going through different romantic/sexual scenarios with you in my mind.]

It would be pointless to say _Erik, are you listening to me?_ Charles knows he isn't. Charles should really have taken Erik's warning as advice, stayed out of his head without permission, but Erik's thoughts are like a clashing symphony, loud and insistent, demanding attention even when he seems entirely at rest.

Over chess, Erik's thoughts have little to do with the game; it's almost as though his innate skill at strategy and long-term focus makes chess second-nature, instinctive. But the thoughts he _does_ have are clear and bright, impossible for Charles to look away from even for an instant.

Erik's thinking about _him_.

Erik thinks about Charles a great deal. He thinks about Charles first thing in the morning, last thing at night. He thinks about Charles in his morning shower, and the first time Charles felt Erik thinking _that_ he raced into the shower himself, desperately needing the privacy and relief, hand moving fast and desperate on his cock in exactly the same way he sensed Erik's moving on his own. It could have been simple, mechanical, just getting off to release a little tension and move on with his day, but even then Charles could tell it was more than that.

He wants to tell Erik _it's all right, I want you that way, too, I want you for as long as you'll stay, please stay_ , but where's the opening for that? _Hello, Erik, I've been hearing your thoughts all this time. All these months, gathering allies and learning about different mutations, I've been hearing the ways you want to make love to me-- have me--_ fuck _me-- and I need you to act on them, I need you to act_ now _before you drive me entirely insane._

No. Every time he imagines telling Erik that he's been hearing Erik's thoughts, he can only see it going one way: Erik turning stone-cold and rigid, his thoughts closing Charles out somehow-- a steel wall, an iron portcullis.

He drinks a little too much, sometimes, and Erik's thoughts grow fuzzy then, but somehow more intent. Erik focus on little things: Charles's mouth (oh, God, Charles would give Erik his mouth; he'd suck Erik's cock until Erik _begged_ ). Charles's hair, lightly damp with sweat, and how Erik keeps imagining what it would feel like under his palms ( _just do it_ , Charles has considered saying, pressing his fingers clumsily against his temple and telling Erik _«do it, you have permission, go»_ ). The open collar of Charles's shirt (who in God's name does Erik think Charles unbuttons those buttons _for_ , it certainly isn't anyone _else_ at the bar).

He's been going on about the latest of his theories on mutation for the better part of an hour tonight, alone in their hotel room, two twin beds separated by the barest patch of floor. Erik's already had his shower, so he's clean and smells of hotel soap and his hair's lying in damp strands against his forehead and his temples. He's sitting up in bed, his shoulders and chest bare, _everything_ bare beneath the sheets he's so lazily pulled up to his waist. One of his knees is bent, pointed at the ceiling, disguising what Charles _knows_ \-- from a million of Erik's memories of himself, from the occasional glance over in a public restroom, from the way Erik wears his trousers and, God help Charles, his _jeans_ \-- is an enviable hard-on.

And it occurs to Charles that Erik isn't listening anyway, so he makes a break in the rambling, and for a few moments he says what's on his mind.

"You're stunning. I don't just mean your mutation, though that _is_ impressive, but I mean to say that I _want_ you."

After that he's right back to talking about beneficial mutations and recessive genes, and Erik doesn't seem to notice the difference at all.

* * *

Erik dreams about him. _Them._ The two of them. Sometimes it keeps Charles up at night; other times Charles falls right into those dreams with Erik, and tries to stay asleep for as long as he can.

Coming awake from one of those dreams is always an exercise in frustration. Everything around him feels sensitized, as though there's so much potential between the two of them that they're creating sparks everywhere. It almost hurts to breathe, he wakes up so aroused, and forget moving; even just the weight of the sheet against Charles's cock is a kind of torment. He tends to stay in bed, eyes shut, trying to block out Erik's early-morning thoughts as best he can until his erection subsides a _little_ and he can actually sit up, draw on a pair of boxers, get to the bathroom and have a quick wank.

That's what usually happens after one of those dreams. This morning things are a little different.

The sheet moves, drawing back from Charles's chest, down over his waist, brushing lightly against his cock. Charles holds his breath, letting his guard down. Letting Erik _in_.

Erik's thoughts aren't as tightly-leashed as they normally are. This once, it's as though they're moving forward, pictures and words pressing themselves against Charles's mind as though they want to come in, stay a while.

«You said last night you wanted me,» Erik thinks. «Or did I imagine that?»

"You weren't imagining," Charles murmurs. He reaches up to touch Erik's shoulder, not even opening his eyes yet. "I always have."

«You should have said,» Erik thinks at him. «Sooner. Think of all the time we've wasted.»

He slips into bed next to Charles, then, and slides on top of him, thighs straddling Charles's, hands cradling Charles's face, his weight welcome and exciting all over Charles's body. Charles reaches around him-- Erik's so slender, Charles has admired that since he's known the man, but now he gets to feel it for himself. All that lean muscle; all the contours and planes of his body.

«I was trying so hard not to overhear,» Charles thinks. He can't start this out with a lie of omission hanging over them. «I've known about your fantasies for a while. I didn't know if you ever meant to act on them...»

Erik bends his head down, rests his lips against Charles's ear and laughs quietly. "Charles," he murmurs, and it's the best Charles's name has ever sounded. "Didn't you ever wonder why the only things you were overhearing from me were those fantasies? I do have _other_ thoughts," and he breathes warm air against Charles's ear, then slowly traces it from lobe to helix with the warm-- and oh God, _nimble_ \-- tip of his tongue. "Now and then."

As if the tease of Erik's tongue on his ear weren't enough on its own. Charles feels lit up from inside, bells ringing, whistles blowing, a casino floor when someone's hit the jackpot. «You _meant_ me to hear,» he thinks, clutching at Erik, rocking up against him. He might still be dreaming. He doesn't care. «You _wanted_ me to know.»

«I was a bit attached to my idea of you as unattainable,» Erik admits, leaving kisses across Charles's jawline, his cheek. «Until it finally sunk in that you'd said you want me. Very clever, I might add. You were right. I didn't notice, wasn't paying attention at first.» He tilts up a little, so Charles can look into his eyes. «And then I was recalling the evening and...»

«Kiss me,» Charles thinks. «Now. Here. _Now._ »

Erik obliges him, and Charles's mouth opens for Erik's kiss, his moan caught up by Erik's mouth. Erik strokes his tongue against Charles's, plays at give-and-take until he finally catches Charles's jaw in one hand and holds him still, taking over the kiss and sending Charles's heartbeat skyrocketing. Erik's fantasies have always been clear, but this is more than just thinking: he's _doing_ things as he imagines them, one hand holding Charles's head in place, the other moving down to sweep over Charles's body.

Charles can't help the grin; he slips his hands down Erik's back, grabs firmly at Erik's ass and drags him down, causing Erik to rub up harder against Charles's thigh than he'd been doing. Arching his back a little, Charles gets them aimed a little better-- oh, there, _yes_ , he can feel the heated length of Erik's cock against his own now, heavy and thick and gorgeous. He rubs his hips up against Erik's, lets Erik feel the motion as their cocks slip past one another. Erik lets out a rough, panting breath, lips parted and pressed against Charles's cheek.

«Go on,» Charles thinks. «Move. Doesn't it feel good, haven't you been waiting for this forever...? I have...»

"Yes," Erik groans, and then he's doing it: he's thrusting hard against Charles, feeling the same glide Charles is, and the rhythm of his breath picks up to match the rhythm of his strokes, coming faster and faster until Charles can't hold himself back anymore-- he's getting his pleasure and Erik's, both, the sensations sparking through his mind from both sides.

He reaches up, clutches the back of Erik's neck, and presses a kiss to his shoulder-- and then he's flying, coming hard, leaving Erik's stomach and chest marked with it, to say nothing of his own. Erik groans aloud and bears down a little harder, thrusting through the slickness, head thrown back and neck arched as he follows Charles over. Charles gets his other arm around Erik's waist and hugs him, hard, clinging as if he's never going to let Erik go. Maybe he isn't.

Erik's not in any hurry to pull away anyhow. He tucks his head down next to Charles's-- the height difference means it's more the bottom of his chin against Charles's temple, but it doesn't matter. Anything feels good now; any touch would be welcome. Charles sighs against Erik's shoulder and just _holds_ him.

«You realize,» Erik thinks muzzily, «how unfair this all is.»

"Oh?" Charles murmurs. He nuzzles Erik's chest a little before kissing his shoulder and tucking himself in again. «How do you mean?»

Erik's hand comes up, his thumb brushing Charles's temple in light circles. «You've seen so many of my fantasies about you. When do I get to find out what you've been thinking about me?»

He lifts himself up so he can look into Charles's eyes, and Charles smiles so hard at him his face nearly aches with it. «Any time,» Charles offers, opening his thoughts, offering one up as Erik's eyes go wide and his lips curve into a pleased smile, «starting now.»

_-end-_


End file.
